Planet of the Plushies
by The Noble Platypus
Summary: A Doctor Hooey adventure, and a bit of a crossover with The Velveteen Rabbit. The Doctor and Chrysanthemum visit a planet populated by surprising creatures, but what dastardly schemes lie beneath the fuzzy wuzzy surface?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** It's time for a new Doctor Hooey adventure! If you haven't yet read "Doctor Hooey," I strongly suggest you do so. It's only eight chapters long, and the first two chapters are ridiculously short, so it's really more like seven chapters. And it involves zombie squirrels. So, you know, if you're into that sort of thing... (coughs). But if you're feeling brave or not adverse to a little confusion, here's the very basics of what you need to know: the Doctor is pretty much Ten plus Four's scarf, Chrysanthemum is pretty much Rose plus Sarah Jane's snark, the WARDIP is pretty much a souped-up washing machine that's bigger on the inside, and I am pretty much on crack.

Also, this story is a bit of a crossover with "The Velveteen Rabbit". If you're unfamiliar with that charming little children's book, do a Google search for Velveteen Rabbit Complete Text, and it'll be the first thing that pops up. You can read the whole book there; it's quite short. But a familiarity with The Velveteen Rabbit isn't vital for the first several chapters, so no rush. :)

Apologies in advance for the shortness of this chapter. If I didn't cut it off where I did, it would be gigantic, and every subsequent chapter would seem pathetically short by comparison.

**Disclaimer:** The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain. But in Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen. Keep this in mind when planning your next vacation.

OoOoOoOoO

"Little Rabbit, don't you know who I am?"

The Rabbit considered the new arrival. She _did_ look a bit familiar, but he couldn't recall ever having met her before.

"I'm afraid not," he said honestly, shivering a little. The night was cold, and her bare arms were cool around him, failing to ward off the chill.

"I am the nursery magic fairy," she explained. "I've come to take you away and turn you Real."

The Rabbit digested this. "But I thought I _was_ Real."

"Real to the Boy," the fairy said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I shall make you Real to _everyone_."

The Rabbit wasn't entirely sure he liked the sound of this. "You're going to take me away? I would much rather stay with the Boy, if that's all right."

The fairy was no longer smiling. "You must come away if you want to be really Real. Don't you wish to be Real, little Rabbit?"

"Well," said the Rabbit, a little frightened and not wishing to upset her, "I suppose so."

"And you shall be. Do not be afraid, little Rabbit. I am going to take you home." The fairy's arms tightened around the Rabbit, and they shot into the sky.

OoO

"Ah, there you are!" The Doctor looked up at Chrysanthemum as she made a surprisingly graceful landing inside the WARDIP. His eyes fell on the stuffed squirrel in her hand, and he wrinkled his nose. "What are you bringing that for?"

"It's a bit of home," Chrysanthemum replied, raising her eyebrows loftily and setting the squirrel on the bench-table.

The Doctor gazed at it for a moment. "Right. Well. Ground rules!" He launched himself at the central console and started pulling levers. "Number one: when I say things like 'don't wander off,' it's best to listen." He gave her a pointed look as he stomped on a pedal near the floor. The WARDIP started to whirr.

Chrysanthemum flushed. "How about we make 'tell Chrys what the hell is going on instead of just giving vague orders' rule number two?"

"'Vague'?" The Doctor guffawed and turned a bright blue dial twenty degrees anticlockwise. "What's so _vague_ about 'don't wander off'?"

"You still could have told me what was going on!"

"Rule number two," he continued breezily as he reached up and yanked on a small, triangular handle that was dangling from the ceiling on a chain, "when we find ourselves in a dangerous situation, I am under no obligation to waste precious moments _explaining_ said situation in the excruciating detail you monkeys usually require."

"I'm not a _monkey_, I'm a _human!"_ Chrysanthemum considered chucking the squirrel at the Doctor's head, but decided the squirrel deserved better and looked around for a more appropriate missile.

"Potato, potahto..." the Doctor punched a few buttons, then reached for a rubber ducky that had been welded to the console and gave it two squeaks. "Where were we going, again?" He frowned pensively, then stabbed the air with an index finger. "Vellindorian Nebula, that's it!" He gave the rubber ducky one more squeak, then settled back against the low railing.

The WARDIP shuddered, nearly throwing Chrysanthemum to the ground. She steadied herself on the bench-table. "What was that?" she asked, throwing a nervous glance at the ceiling.

"You might want to come up here," the Doctor answered, patting the railing. "It's not so bad if you're near the middle."

_"What's_ not so bad?"

Before the Doctor could answer, the entire room gave a lurch. This time, Chrysanthemum _was_ thrown to the ground. As she tried unsteadily to pick herself up, the room began to rotate, slowly at first, but picking up speed. She managed to get to her knees, then wobbled and would have gone down again if the Doctor hadn't grabbed her hand and heaved her in the general direction of the safety railing. She clung to it, then looked up to see an all-too-familiar manic grin.

"The spin cycle!" he said.

Chrysanthemum stared at the Doctor, not wanting to believe what she'd just heard. "Spin cycle?" she repeated.

"Rule number three!" the Doctor cried as the WARDIP started whirling like a dervish. "Hold on tight!"

OoOoOoOoO

If you leave a review, it will be like sunshine on the flowerbed of my soul.

If you leave a review, it will be like recess for the fidgety schoolchild that is my heart.

If you leave a review, it will be like a saucer of fresh milk fed to a fuzzy wuzzy kitten with big green eyes and a purr like an outboard motor.

If you leave a review, the nauseating similes will cease.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction. The characters are fanfictitious, and any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Any resemblances to _fictional_ persons, living or dead, is _very_ intentional.

OoOoOoOoO

The WARDIP finally ground to a halt, and Chrysanthemum slumped to the floor, her hands limply wrapped around the safety rail. "I'm going to be sick," she predicted, voice hollow.

"Nonsense!" the Doctor said as he lurched around the console, powering down the ship. Once he'd finished, he stopped in front of Chrysanthemum and took in her miserable, green-tinged expression. "The first trip can be a bit rough," he conceded, "but it gets better! Here, have a mint." He produced a small tin from his pocket and offered it to her. "It'll help, honestly."

The last thing Chrysanthemum felt like doing was putting anything in her mouth, but she didn't want to be rude to the Doctor _and_ sick all over the interior of a sentient ship that would probably take it personally and hold a grudge. So she took a mint, popped it in her mouth, and was pleasantly surprised to feel the nausea abating.

"See?" The Doctor straightened, swayed a little like a palm tree in a light breeze, and pocketed the mints. "Soon, you'll get to the point where it hardly affects you at all. Now, let's have a look at that nebula!" He grabbed his scarf, which had remained neatly looped over the railing throughout the wild ride, and staggered crookedly towards the door as Chrysanthemum pulled herself upright, using the railing for support. After pressing his nose against the round, porthole-like window and staring outside for a few moments, he let out a quiet (and rather nasal), "Huh."

"What is it?" Chrysanthemum tottered after him, her head still spinning.

"No nebula." He rolled sideways until his back was against the wall and frowned. "We must have gotten bumped off course."

Chrysanthemum had regained enough of her coordination to raise an eyebrow at him. "So what's out there, then?"

"Dunno," he replied, an eager little smile slowly spreading across his features. "Strange planet."

Chrysanthemum pressed her own nose against the glass, then leaned back and gave the Doctor a look. "Are you sure it's not Earth?"

The Doctor looked sharply up at her as he adjusted the scarf around his neck, his eager little smile replaced by an offended little frown. "Sure, I'm sure."

"Because it looks like Earth."

"It's not Earth."

"How do you know?"

"I'm a genius! I know everything!"

She looked outside again, then turned her gaze back to the Doctor. "I think you're full of it," she said.

He gaped at her, his wild hair giving the impression that he was literally bristling with indignation. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

"You claim to know everything, yet you can't tell us where we are? I think," she said, folding her arms and smirking faintly, "that your so-called 'spaceship' hasn't taken us any farther than Hyde Park."

_"Hyde Park?"_ the Doctor yelped furiously as the WARDIP's lights gave an irritable flicker. "First you call my intelligence into question, and now you _insult my ship?"_ He took a step towards her, but she stood firm, gamely holding his gaze even though he was glaring at her ferociously, his nose a scant few inches from hers.

"Hyde," she said, slowly and distinctly, "Park."

The Doctor inhaled sharply, then shoved the door open and barked, "Out!"

Chrysanthemum took a step backwards. "What, you're just going to kick me out?"

"Out!" he repeated, pointing to the door.

She wavered, then set her jaw and glared at him. _"Fine!_ Some bloody 'thank-you trip'..." she grumbled as she climbed out into the sunshine and stalked away from the WARDIP, green grass below her feet and a blue sky overhead. She heard the door slam behind her. Then, to her surprise, she heard a pair of converse-clad feet swish through the grass, accompanied by a low, indignant muttering.

"Hyde Park," the Doctor repeated over and over, as if he couldn't believe she'd had the audacity to suggest such a thing. Chrysanthemum stopped and frowned at the grass until he'd caught up and halted beside her. "What have you stopped for?" he asked, still sounding cross.

"I _thought_ you were just going to leave me here," she said, her tone part accusation, part request.

He blinked at her, astonishment replacing anger. "What? Don't be ridiculous. I can't just _leave_ you here; it's a strange planet!"

"Then why'd you chuck me out of the WARDIP?"

The Doctor spread his arms and cried, "To _prove_ it to you, of course! And I didn't _chuck you,"_ he added in a quiet, sulky tone.

Chrysanthemum made a non-committal noise, and the Doctor sighed and fiddled with his scarf.

"Besides," he continued briskly, "I couldn't very well let you stay on board the WARDIP after you insulted her like that. She'd probably arrange for you to take a tumble down the garbage chute. She needs time to cool off." He fell silent, giving Chrysanthemum a chance to reply. After an uncomfortable minute had passed, he cleared his throat and said, "As do you, it seems. Well, come on." He started walking towards a low hill, and after a moment's hesitation, Chrysanthemum followed.

Once they'd reached the top, the Doctor gestured broadly. "Tell me what you see." She raised an eyebrow, and he ventured a faint smile. "Just humor me."

Chrysanthemum sighed and looked around. "Rolling hills, a few little trees... the WARDIP..."

"No roads, no power lines, and--" he glanced upward, "--no sign of any aircraft." He raised his eyebrows at her. _"Not_ Hyde Park, it seems."

"Maybe you just took us back in time, then."

"Interesting theory," his smile grew, _"but--_ listen." He fell silent for a moment, and they both listened to the sound of a breeze rippling over the hills. "No birds, no insects."

"Okay... so maybe you took us _forward_ into a post-apocalyptic future in which all animal and insect life has been wiped out by nuclear war."

"Bundle of laughs, you are!"

"Well," she said, spreading her arms, "other than the unnatural stillness, you've got to admit the place seems pretty Earth-like. So what are the chances of us just _happening_ upon a planet that's almost identical?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. "Maybe it wasn't chance."

"...I thought you said we were just bumped off course."

"Maybe someone bumped us on purpose," he replied.

Chrysanthemum planted her hands on her hips. "Then where's the welcoming committee?"

"Maybe," he said, lowering his voice dramatically, "they're not very friendly and planning an ambush."

Chrysanthemum snorted. "Who's a bundle of laughs now?" The Doctor just grinned and started walking down the hill towards a little clump of trees. "Hey!" She scrambled after him. "Where are you going?"

"Well, they can't very well ambush us if we're out in the open, can they?" he called over his shoulder.

She gaped at him, momentarily freezing in her tracks. "You're going to voluntarily walk into an ambush?" she shrieked.

The Doctor turned to face her and spread his arms, walking backwards. "Who said anything about an _ambush?_ Planet seems deserted to me!" He flipped his scarf over his shoulder and turned back around, adding a jaunty little bounce to his step.

"Wha... buh..." Chrysanthemum flailed at him, at a loss for words. She considered just going back to the WARDIP by herself, but his warning about the garbage chute was still fresh in her mind. With a growl of exasperation, she ran to catch up with him.

The copse into which the Doctor boldly strolled was mostly made up of thin, shivery birch-like trees, with a few larger, sturdier specimens in the middle. The round leaves, stirred by the wind, made a noise like faint but steady applause. Chrysanthemum stuffed her hands into the front pocket of her sweatshirt and stuck close to the Doctor, keeping a wary eye on the undergrowth. She started several times, thinking she'd seen or heard something, but it was hard to be certain--thanks to the breeze, _everything_ was moving about a bit and making little noises. She wasn't about to give the Doctor an excuse to tease her, so she kept her suspicions to herself.

"Well, look at this." They had reached some of the larger trees. The Doctor squinted up into the branches of one of them, intrigued.

"What is it?" Chrysanthemum asked, lingering a few paces behind him and not taking her eyes off the shrubbery. She was almost _positive_ that she'd seen something moving.

"Some sort of pulley system. Elaborate, too." He sounded impressed. "You could lift a fair amount without much effort at all. I wonder--"

But she never got to hear what he was wondering. Instead, she heard a muffled thud--the sort of thud that might be made by a hard, blunt object connecting with someone's head. This was followed by a louder whump--the sort of whump that might be made by a tall, man-shaped alien crumpling to the ground in a heap. This was followed by a profound silence--the sort of silence that occurs when an excessively chatty person is knocked unconscious. These three sounds (or two sounds and a lack-of-sound), in conjunction, were rather unsettling.

Chrysanthemum turned around. "Doctor?" He was slumped under the tree, out cold. She rushed over, muttering a few choice words under her breath, and knelt beside him. "Doctor!" Shaking his shoulder proved to be ineffective, and she was just about to try whapping him upside the head (lightly, of course), when she noticed something. Lying on the grass right next to his head was a round, smooth stone, roughly the size of a bocce ball. She picked it up and frowned at it.

A moment later, something struck her on the back of the head, and everything went black.

OoOoOoOoO

There's a bit of a longer chapter for you! Next time, we meet the planet's mysterious, pulley-loving inhabitants!

Don't make me bust out some more nauseating similes. I'm sure I could think some up...


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** This chapter got a bit out of hand. Please blame the characters, as it is entirely their fault. Or, if you're feeling masochistic, blame yourself.

OoOoOoOoO

Chrysanthemum woke up to an aching skull and a low, steady, unidentifiable murmur. After lying still for a minute, her head hurt no less, but the murmur had resolved itself: it was the Doctor. He seemed to be exploring their surroundings, and was keeping up a running commentary as he did so.

"... And the bars are... but how did they _manage_ all this?" The Doctor still sounded intrigued, but in a less pleasant and more worried sort of way. Chrysanthemum opened her eyes and was confronted with a low, dirt ceiling criss-crossed with roots. There was a hole--more of a tunnel, really--that cut straight up through about ten feet of earth before reaching the planet's surface. It also bathed her in indirect sunlight, which made her head hurt even worse.

Chrysanthemum cleared her throat. "I take it we were ambushed?"

The Doctor looked over at her and flashed her a grin that was a bit less enthusiastic than normal. There was a smudge of dirt on his forehead. "About time you woke up. And yes, we were."

Chrysanthemum nodded. "I'm going to murder you," she informed him as she sat up and examined their surroundings. The floor and three of the walls were much the same as the ceiling: dirt, roots, and the occasional small rock. The fourth wall was a mass of fibrous roots stretching from roof to floor, too thick to squeeze through. There were quite a few small gaps between roots, and she got the impression that there was another space on the other side, but through the gaps she could only see darkness. There was another pool of light besides the one she was sitting in. It was illuminating a small pile of rubble about six feet to her left. She looked up at the tunnel. She looked down and saw that her clothes were all smeared with dirt, then sighed and squinted back up at the light.

"Is this how we got in?" she asked as she stood up and brushed ineffectually at her pants.

The Doctor glanced up at the tunnels, then nodded. "Yep. Already tried getting back out that way, but it's no good. They're guarding it." He turned back to the wall of roots and examined it closely. When he continued speaking, his voice had a careful, casual quality that immediately put Chrysanthemum on high alert. "Forgot to mention--I know where we are, now."

"In a cell?" she guessed, squinting up at the light. "I don't see anyone up there."

"Oh, they're there," the Doctor assured her. "Try to climb out, and they'll drop things on you until you give up, the fuzzy little bastards." That explained the pile of rubble under the other tunnel, then. "Anyway, yes, we are in a cell, on the planet Snug'll, if I'm not mistaken."

Chrysanthemum stared at the Doctor, her emotions a cocktail of disbelief, fury, resignation, and faint amusement. "'Snug'll'?" she repeated.

"No, thank you," the Doctor said absently as he sniffed at one of the thicker roots and flicked it with a finger. "I'm trying to figure out an escape plan."

Had the Doctor obviously meant the comment as a joke, perhaps punctuating it with a saucy wink, she would have shaken her head and forgiven him. But he'd been completely deadpan, and the presumption that "snuggling" could _conceivably_ be on her List of Things To Accomplish While Imprisoned Underground (coupled with the presumption that he, a mad alien she hardly knew, would even be _on_ her List of Potential Snuggling Partners) was so ridiculous and insulting that she was stunned speechless. Fury warred against a tag team of disbelief and amusement, but disbelief was weak and quickly succumbed to fury. Amusement put up a bit more of a fight, but in the end, fury triumphed. Chrysanthemum crouched, and a moment later, a sizable clod of dirt hit the Doctor square in the back of the head with a satisfying _whumph!_ The Doctor yelped and whirled about to face her, one hand clamped to the back of his head.

"What was _that_ for?" he cried. A second clod of dirt exploded against his shoulder, but he didn't move, seemingly too shocked by the attack to react. She sent another dirt clod winging his way, but this one he managed to dodge. "What's the matter with you?"

"With _me?"_ Chrysanthemum shrieked, finding her voice as her fingers closed around a rock. "What's the matter with _me?"_

"Whoa, now," the Doctor said, holding his hands up and eyeing the rock nervously, "let's not do anything we're going to regret."

Chrysanthemum hefted the rock, which was about the size and shape of a mobile phone. "I sincerely doubt that I'm going to regret this."

"Can't we talk about this?" he asked as they circled one another. "Talking's nice, isn't it?"

"Nicer than _snuggling?"_ Chrysanthemum snapped, her empty hand clenching into a fist.

The Doctor's hands dropped, and he stared at her in naked disbelief. "Wait-wait-wait... this is all about you just wanting a snuggle?"

"I'm going to _murder you!"_ she repeated, but this time, she meant it. She slung the rock at the Doctor, who didn't dodge quite quickly enough and took it in the arm.

"Ow! Stop that!" He stared for a moment as Chrysanthemum hunted about on the floor and picked up another rock. "You're not stopping!" he accused. She hurled the rock, and he ducked to the side. "Right. I didn't want it to come to this, but circumstances being what they are..."

Chrysanthemum wasn't listening. She chucked another rock, not waiting to see if it connected, then turned to look for more ammunition. She spied a rock about the size of a chicken egg, but before she could reach for it, a thin band of garishly-patterned fabric whooshed over her head, looped around her middle, and was pulled tight, pinning her arms to her sides. She struggled, but the scarf held strong, and within moments she found herself pushed up against the wall, swiftly and effectively immobilized. _So the Doctor_ isn't _a complete pansy,_ she thought grudgingly.

"Now," the Doctor said cheerfully from behind her, "we can talk."

"I don't want to talk!" Chrysanthemum growled, her cheek pressed against the cool, damp earth.

"You want to throw things at me, I know. Or snuggle. You haven't been terribly clear about what you want, in fact." He turned her around so she was facing him and could see his expression of frank confusion. "What _do_ you want, anyway?"

She glared at him. "I want you to untie me," she began, trying to maintain a calm, level tone of voice and failing, "I want to get out this subterranean _pit_ that we're in, and I want to get _back_ in the WARDIP," now she was shouting, "so I can _go home!"_

"I see," the Doctor said, looking a bit hurt and taking his hands off her shoulders. There was an awkward pause, during which they both avoided looking at one another. "Well," he finally broke the silence and motioned for her to turn back around, "I suppose we have gotten off to a bad start." She turned, and the scarf was loosened, then removed. He slung it over his shoulder as she turned back to face him. "But don't worry," he continued, some of his latent enthusiasm reasserting itself, "we'll get out of it somehow. Then I can..." he paused, running his hand through his hair and looking momentarily bewildered, as if he'd lost his train of thought. "...Take you home," he finished in one hurried breath, like a sigh. "Right." After a brief hesitation, he turned, went back over to the fourth wall, and resumed examining the roots as if nothing had happened.

Chrysanthemum frowned, torn between the little voice in her head urging her to apologize and the little voice in her head insisting that if anyone owed an apology, it certainly wasn't her. _He_ was the one who had walked into an ambush on a planet with which he was apparently familiar. _He_ was the one who had probably known exactly what was going to happen when he'd led her into those trees. This was all _his_ fault.

But when she'd walked away from him after the warehouse, and expressed a strong desire to leave him just now, he'd given her that kicked puppy look, that look that said, _You wound me to the very core, but it's all right, I won't hold it against you._ She half-suspected that he'd spent hours practicing that look in the mirror, just to get the perfect balance of pain and forgiveness, but it was the sort of look that also said, _I haven't needed to spend hours practicing this look in front of the mirror, because I've had reason to make this expression often enough in my real, everyday, miserably lonely existence. Pity me._

_Well, I don't,_ Chrysanthemum thought viciously. _This is_ still _all your fault, Doctor._ But anger was an exhausting thing to maintain, so she sighed and made an attempt to smooth things over.

"So," she said, "a planet called 'Snug'll.' That's... cute."

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "Hardly."

He didn't sound upset. Encouraged, she continued. "And we've run afoul of the natives?" She suspected running afoul of the natives was something to which the Doctor was accustomed, and he did have the decency to look a bit guilty.

"Yes. Well, sort of. I wouldn't call them 'natives,' really... they're not from around here." He straightened, then shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a clod of dirt.

"Oh?" Chrysanthemum raised her eyebrows. "Where are they from?"

The Doctor pursed his lips. Was she imagining it, or was he turning a bit pink? "Earth," he said delicately, "as luck would have it."

"Really?" Chrysanthemum planted her hands on her hips, and the Doctor squirmed. "So, we're on a planet that just happens to resemble Earth, and it's populated by creatures that just happen to be _from_ Earth... but we're not on Earth?" The Doctor didn't reply. "Well," she said briskly, "you referred to them as small and fuzzy. Are they bunnies, perhaps?"

The Doctor acquired a sudden interest in an unremarkable root in the wall. "Oh... some of them are, I'm sure." He poked at the root and frowned when it failed to provide any sort of helpful distraction.

"Chipmunks?" she suggested, and his shoulder hit the wall and stayed there. "Raccoons?" He grimaced. "Squirrels?" He bit his lip. "Wombats?" She threw up her hands in exasperation, and he allowed his forehead to thud gently against the wall, giving her a good idea of where the original dirt smudge had come from. "Throw me a bone, here, Doctor!"

"I really couldn't say," he said to the wall, speaking as if each word pained him, "but I think most of them are bears."

"Oh," she said, eyes widening. After an awkward silence, she ventured, "Jesus, _bears?_ Are they going to eat us or something?"

He looked over at her in astonishment. "What? No! Haha, ha! No. Er... no." He cleared his throat and went back to leaning his forehead against the wall.

Chrysanthemum sucked on her teeth and peered at him. "What aren't you telling me, Doctor?"

"Well," he said, drawing the word out as if stalling for time (which was almost certainly what he was doing), "they aren't exactly grizzly bears. Or black bears. Or brown bears. Or sun bears. Or spectacled bears, or polar bears, or sloth bears, or panda bears. Well, they _might_ be any of those, really, but they aren't _really_ any of those, if you follow me."

"No."

"Right," he said, rolling sideways so that his back was against the wall and heaving a monstrous sigh. "Well, I'm sure there are bunnies, too. Maybe even a wombat or two, who knows?"

"Doctor!" she said sharply, more than a little bit impatient. "What the _hell_ is going on? Are you going to tell me who's captured us, or not?"

He looked sideways at her. "You'll laugh," he said mournfully.

"I'm sitting in a subterranean cell, I'm covered with dirt, and I have a headache. I could _use_ a laugh," she argued.

"Well," he said, raising his eyebrows in a resigned sort of way, "they're... um..."

"Good day, prisoners!" cried a rather squeaky little voice from the general vicinity of the fourth wall. Chrysanthemum turned, startled. It took her a moment to find the source of the voice: a small, furry, brown creature had managed to squeeze its way through a gap in the roots (she couldn't think of any other way it could have gotten in without her noticing). It blinked at her with two black button eyes, and with a start, she realized just what it was she was looking at.

"...Erm. Teddy bears," said the Doctor.

OoOoOoOoO

Why, I do believe it's another minor cliffhanger!

Reviews are like teddy bears in the dismal subterranean pit of my consciousness: unexpected and baffling, but not entirely unwelcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the massive delay, everyone. There was Missouri, and then there was Real Life Drama, and then there was a brief bout of writer's block. I'm not _entirely_ pleased with this chapter, but I think I need to get it out there so I can move on with the fic. The good news: it has a REAL PLOT now! How exciting!

Anyway.

**Disclaimer:** I will be employing some new scene divider thingies in this chapter. Do let me know what you think of them.

.o.O.o.

"Teddy bears," Chrysanthemum repeated, staring at it. Then she turned to the Doctor and screeched, "Sodding _teddy bears?"_

The Doctor winced and shrugged apologetically.

"You got us captured," she cried, pointing a trembling finger at the teddy bear by the fourth wall, "by a bunch of bloody _teddy bears?"_

"Well, as I said before, several times, some of them are probably bunnies," he said evenly, as if trying to retain the last few sorry scraps of his dignity. "And," he added, "I wouldn't say _I_ got us captured."

"If you hadn't been mucking about under that tree--"

"Excuse me!" the teddy bear piped up indignantly, and the spectacle of a talking teddy was enough to silence Chrysanthemum. It eyed them both until it was certain neither of them planned on saying anything more, then nodded once. "That's better. Now," it began to pace, tucking its stubby paws behind its back and puffing out its round, fuzzy belly, "your presence on our humble planet is both unappreciated and highly suspect. You will _not speak_," it shrilled as the Doctor opened his mouth to say something. Chrysanthemum glanced at the Doctor as he leaned back against the wall, and he shrugged at her. "Yet," the teddy amended. "In a few moments, you will be interrogated by our most esteemed Grand Inquisitor, and I dare say you shall have plenty to say to _him_ before he's through with you."

Chrysanthemum shifted and glanced at the Doctor again. Her natural inclination--to be perfectly honest--was to giggle; one little teddy bear was hardly threatening in and of itself, especially one with a comically squeaky voice. But what it was actually _saying_ was very threatening, indeed, and she had no idea whether or not to take the teddy seriously. The Doctor wasn't much help; he watched the teddy with a faint, thoughtful frown and said nothing.

But, like most of the Doctor's silences, this one didn't last long. "Well," he chirped, rubbing his hands together, "shall the 'esteemed Grand Inquisitor' be coming to us, or must we go to him?"

The teddy glared at the Doctor. "The Grand Inquisitor would not inconvenience himself by traveling down here. You shall meet him in the Interrogation Room."

Chrysanthemum entertained the mental image of stuffed animals wielding instruments of torture, and again was torn between amusement and worry. The Doctor was rocking back and forth on his heels, an expression of polite interest plastered across his face. Deciding to take comfort from this, Chrysanthemum turned to the teddy. "All right," she said. "How do we get there?"

"We shall escort you," the teddy replied, fixing its bright button eyes on her. "One moment." It turned away, and in a trice it had wriggled through a gap in the roots and vanished from sight.

As soon as it had gone, Chrysanthemum leaned towards the Doctor. "How worried should I be?" she asked him in an undertone, not taking her eyes off the gap through which the teddy had disappeared.

"I've gotten myself out of worse scrapes than this," the Doctor replied softly with a reassuring smile.

She tore her gaze from the wall and gave him a searching look. "Have you gotten _other people_ out of worse scrapes than this?"

He blinked at her, then waved a hand a little too carelessly. _"Yes._ Course I have." He cleared his throat, and Chrysanthemum turned back to the root wall just in time to see a three foot wide portion of it start to grind up into the ceiling like a shaggy portcullis.

"Very worried, then," she muttered to herself as the root tips completely vanished into the roof, leaving a squarish doorway. The teddy promptly appeared in the new opening, flanked by two larger stuffed animals--a scruffy sheepdog whose eyes were hidden underneath a stained fringe, and a monkey with a fixed, mad grin. Both animals were holding thin sticks that had been whittled down to wicked points on each end.

"You will follow me," squeaked the teddy, "and if you try anything, my associates will make sure you regret it." The monkey and the sheepdog marched into the cell, waving their pikes menacingly. Chrysanthemum doubted they were capable of jabbing her anywhere above the thigh, and briefly considered trying something just to see what would happen. But as if reading her mind, the Doctor coughed and nodded pointedly towards the doorway. Chrysanthemum followed his gaze and immediately resolved to behave.

The door led to a long hallway. It was lit by some sort of bioluminescent fungus that coated the ceiling, and in the faint green glow she could see that the hallway was lined with more pike-wielding plushies of all shapes and sizes. There must have been at least two dozen she could see before the tunnel curved upwards, and possibly more beyond that. They might have only been stuffed animals, but they vastly outnumbered her and the Doctor, and they were armed.

"Ye-es," drawled the teddy, having observed their reactions and evidently finding them satisfactory. "You'd best do as you're told. Come on, then!" The teddy spun about and marched up the tunnel, and after each receiving a sharp poke from the monkey and sheepdog, the Doctor and Chrysanthemum followed.

The tunnel was surprisingly high, given that none of the stuffed animals topped three feet, but Chrysanthemum still had to crouch as they walked, and judging by the occasional dull thuds and muffled curses coming from behind her, the Doctor was finding the low ceiling quite problematic. There wasn't much she could do to offer encouragement, so she occupied herself by sizing up the stuffed animals as she shuffled past them. They all gazed straight ahead, fuzzy faces betraying no emotion, pikes at the ready. Once, she could have sworn she caught a rather shapeless brown rabbit looking right up at her, expression curious and perhaps a little wistful, but when she met its eyes, it hurriedly leveled its gaze and rearranged its features into an expression of stern detachment.

Chrysanthemum frowned, but before she could devote much thought to the little rabbit's strange behavior, the teddy stopped short and indicated that she and Doctor should halt as well. She obeyed, still hunched. They were in front of another wall of roots, which again rose with a gritty grinding noise. Once the root tips had cleared the ceiling, the teddy stepped back and waved Chrysanthemum forward. She hesitated, and the sheepdog gave her an encouraging jab with its pike. "All right," she muttered, stepping into the Interrogation Room.

Her mind had been half-expecting to see thumbscrews and perhaps a rack, so it was with considerable surprise that she took in the actual contents of the room: a low table surrounded by three squat chairs, all made of wood, and all painted what looked like a pastel shade of pink (though color was a bit difficult to judge in the green, fungal light). In front of each chair was a cup and saucer, and clustered in the middle of the table was a teapot, sugar dish, and a creamer shaped like a little holstein. Chrysanthemum turned to ask the teddy if they were perhaps in the wrong room and found herself face-to-face with the Doctor. He, too, was taking in the tea set, but he didn't look at all confused. If anything, he looked enormously pleased.

"Aha," he said quietly, as if he had just had a theory confirmed. He straightened--the ceiling in this room was high enough to allow it--and grinned at her. "Isn't this nice?"

"Yes," she said honestly; tea was more welcome than pain. But she was still half-convinced that some mistake had been made. This couldn't possibly be an _interrogation_ room.

Her confusion was somewhat alleviated when the teddy strode into the room behind them. "Sit," he ordered, waving a stubby paw at the table. "The Grand Inquisitor will be with you shortly."

"Thanks!" the Doctor chirped, plunking down into one of the chairs. It was so low that his knees wound up under his chin, but he didn't seem to mind as he examined the tea set laid out on the table. His hair, Chrysanthemum abruptly noticed, was glowing green in a few places--apparently some fungus has wound up in it when he'd bumped his head on the ceiling. She hesitated, staring at the glow and wondering if she should mention it, and both the monkey and the sheepdog prodded the back of her knees. She sat.

A few uncomfortable minutes passed. No one said anything--the teddy stood in the doorway behind them, fuzzy face unreadable, flanked by the sheepdog and monkey. The Doctor fiddled with his cup and saucer, clacking them together (they were plastic and didn't shatter), and then spent several minutes trying to arrange his lanky frame more comfortably in the tiny chair. This, at least, provided some entertainment, and Chrysanthemum watched with growing amusement as he tried to fold himself into several different positions to little effect. Finally he hit upon the idea of stretching his legs out _under_ the low table, which might have worked had he not struck the unoccupied chair a solid blow with one of his feet. The chair shot out from the table and tipped over backwards, and the Doctor froze, looking horrified. Chrysanthemum heard the teddy inhale sharply behind her, and with a supreme effort, she managed to not burst out laughing.

"Um," she said in a quiet voice that shook with suppressed mirth (though she hoped the teddy might interpret it as terror), "I'll just, er, straighten that out, shall I?"

"Remain seated!" shrieked the teddy. Chrysanthemum had started to rise out of her chair--now she plopped back down, making the tiny thing creak ominously. The teddy must have poked its head out into the tunnel and signaled for backup, because three more teddies entered the room and managed to right the chair through a combined effort. These three had an old-fashioned, sturdier look to them--the sort of teddies whose stiff limbs were posable because they were attached to the body with joints and not just stitching. Still, they seemed to have some difficulty righting the chair, which must have been quite heavy from their perspective. _That explains the pulleys,_ Chrysanthemum thought wryly to herself.

The three teddies had just finished straightening the chair when the original teddy cleared his throat importantly. "The Grand Inquisitor!" it announced. Chrysanthemum and the Doctor were both prodded to their feet, the Doctor earning several extra jabs as it took him a few moments to extricate his legs from beneath the table. Still, he managed to stand without upending anything, and it was with a pleased and slightly smug smile that he turned to face the entrance.

The Grand Inquisitor sauntered into the room with the air of someone too convinced of their own importance to hurry. All the plushies Chrysanthemum could see had snapped to attention; he acknowledged them with a wave of his yellow paw, then headed for his chair, absently straightening his little red shirt as he walked. He sat down, then indicated that Chrysanthemum and the Doctor should do the same. They obeyed, the Doctor winding up with his knees under his chin again and looking rather glum about it. Chrysanthemum, however, was fighting back giggles once again. She recognized the Grand Inquisitor. _Anyone_ would have recognized him.

"Leave us," said the Grand Inquisitor. His voice was lower than the other teddies', breezy, faintly tired, and completely familiar. With brisk salutes, the plushies obeyed. Shortly after they had cleared the room, the root portcullis was lowered, shutting them in.

"My, my." The Grand Inquisitor turned his sharp gaze from one prisoner to the other, and Chrysanthemum felt some of her repressed mirth evaporate. He wore an expression of calculating contempt she never would have expected to see on his otherwise familiar face, and she realized with a jolt that despite the lack of torture devices, they were going to get a proper interrogation.

And it was going to come from Winnie the Pooh.

.o.O.o.

Look at my luverly centering of things! Bwah! Why yes, I am easily amused, why do you ask?


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I had a little bit too much fun writing this chapter. This is the sort of nonsense you get from my brain... except for the bit about ebolapox. I can't take credit for that. I think Russia can, though.

.o.O.o.

Chrysanthemum swallowed, clutched her hands in her lap, and waited.

After scrutinizing the two prisoners for a moment, Winnie the Pooh gestured towards the tea pot in the center of the table. "Do have some tea," he said in the tone of voice most people would use to say something like, "Do contract ebolapox and die."

"You're too kind," the Doctor replied, lifting the teapot and courteously tilting it over Chrysanthemum's cup, first. Nothing came out. Her eyebrows knit together as she watched him pour a moderate amount of air into her cup, but he didn't act as if anything unusual was happening, so she kept her mouth shut. He repeated the pantomime over his own teacup, then passed the pot to Pooh, who also poured himself a cup full of nothing. The bear set down the empty tea pot, then gestured towards the condiments.

"Sugar? Milk?" the bear offered, voice menacing.

The Doctor flashed Pooh a bright, innocent smile. "D'you have any honey?"

There was a stony silence. Pooh narrowed his eyes, then pulled himself onto the table and stood, putting him at eye level with the Doctor. When he finally spoke, his voice was quite scary. "Think you're funny, do you?"

The Doctor's eyes widened, and he hastily tried to backtrack. Before he could stammer out anything more than a few nonsensical syllables, the bear marched across the table, pulled back his little arm, and smacked the Doctor with all his might.

Granted, 'all his might' was not very much; the Doctor's head didn't even move as the bear's fuzzy paw bopped him on the nose. Still, the blow effectively startled the Doctor into silence, and it was with an air of satisfaction that Pooh marched back across the table and hopped down onto his chair.

Chrysanthemum, meanwhile, was literally biting her tongue to keep herself from snickering. The Doctor was too stunned to even look affronted as the bear lifted his tea cup and took a casual sip of air. "If you so much as crack a smile," Pooh said, staring at Chrysanthemum as he set down his cup, "you'll get the same, girl."

This threat only served to increase her amusement, and she hurriedly ducked her head and took a pretend sip of pretend tea. She almost had herself under control, but then her mind treated her to a slow-motion replay of the Doctor getting smacked around by Pooh-bear. She snorted loudly into her cup, undoubtedly spraying copious amounts of her imaginary beverage all over the table and herself, and Pooh leaped back onto the table, incensed.

"HOW _DARE_ YOU?" roared the bear, charging towards her. No longer able to contain herself, Chrysanthemum burst out laughing, squinching her eyes shut as they filled with tears of mirth. Pooh must have attacked her--she felt a light buffeting sensation around her cheeks, as if someone was pelting her with moths. She heard the Doctor make a general noise of objection, and a moment later, the sensation abruptly ceased. Cracking her eyes open, she was met with a sight that sent her into further gales of laughter: the Doctor, looking both sheepish and irritated, had grabbed Pooh around his rotund middle and was holding him up in the air. For his part, the bear was cursing and thrashing about, his little paws ineffectively pummeling the few parts of the Doctor he could reach (which was nothing above the wrists).

"That's _enough,"_ the Doctor said, voice stern. Chrysanthemum wasn't sure if he was talking to her or the bear, but she hiccuped, swallowed, and managed to get herself under control. With only the muffled growls of the Grand Inquisitor filling the room, Chrysanthemum was able to pick up the sound of something grunting back by the door. She turned just in time to see a fourth party wriggle through a gap in the roots and stand, brushing himself off.

"Oooh," said the newcomer, taking in the scene, "oh, dear. I see my friend has proceeded without me."

"Late as usual, Piglet!" snapped the bear, ceasing his struggling long enough to shoot a glare at the little creature.

"I _am_ sorry," Piglet said with charming sincerity. He surveyed the table and sighed. "And as usual, _you_ seem to have forgotten my seat."

"You can have mine," Chrysanthemum offered.

"Oh, that's very kind." Two beady little eyes crinkled into a smile. "But it won't be necessary." Using the bear's seat, the little pig climbed up onto the table and settled himself behind the cow creamer. Then he nodded up at the suspended Pooh and said, "Please put him down."

The Doctor hesitated, then nodded. "Certainly," he said briskly, setting the bear down. Pooh tore himself out of the Doctor's grasp and stomped back over to his chair, fuming. The Doctor folded his hands on the table and addressed the pig. "I believe you had some questions for us?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Piglet said, inclining his head. Chrysanthemum frowned a little; the pig was behaving as if this was something a bit more polite than an Interrogation Room--perhaps a Cordial Interview Room. Still, Piglet's kindly tone was more pleasant than Pooh's shouting. She wasn't about to complain.

The Doctor smiled affably at the little stuffed animal. "Not at all. Fire away."

Pooh leaned forward and placed his paws on the table. "What are your names?" he snapped, his harsh tone prompting his porcine partner to wince delicately.

The Doctor's smile slipped a notch. "There's no need to shout."

"Really, Pooh," Piglet scolded, "you'll frighten them!"

Chrysanthemum didn't think there was any danger of that, but she kept silent. Now that the actual interrogation was taking place, she felt it best to let the Doctor do the talking, at least until she got a sense of how truthful he was going to be.

Unfortunately for her, Piglet immediately threw a wrench in her plans by turning to her with an encouraging smile. "Please, miss--your names?"

She glanced at the Doctor, who gave her the slightest of nods, and then looked back at Piglet. "I'm Chrysanthemum, and he's the Doctor."

"Chrysanthemum," Piglet repeated, sounding pleased, "and the Doctor. Tell me, Doctor, what planet are you from?"

"We-ell..." The Doctor inhaled deeply, looked at the left half of the fungus-covered ceiling for inspiration, then bit his lip, narrowed one eye, and bobbed his head from side to side, as if trying to choose between two enticing options. Chrysanthemum had never before in her life seen such a blatant preamble to a lie. Finally he announced, "Minetoriana!"

"Lies!" Pooh shouted redundantly. He smacked the table with one paw for emphasis, but it made only a tiny _fupp_ and not the dramatic _bang!_ for which the bear had undoubtedly been hoping.

Piglet heaved a disappointed sigh. "Come, Doctor," he said, "you know that's not true."

The Doctor's eyes widened in baffled innocence. "Course it's true!"

"I'll kill him!" The bear started to climb up onto the table, but Piglet held up a stubby arm.

"Wait," said the pig before turning to Chrysanthemum. "Now, Chrysanthemum, I'd like you to tell us the truth. What planet are you from?"

Chrysanthemum looked to the Doctor again, who raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. Suddenly, she felt almost giddy. She turned back to Piglet and gave him a wide, bland smile. "Like he said... Minetorioni."

"Minetoriana," the Doctor cheerfully corrected.

Her smile widened. "That's the one."

"If you're from Minetoriana," Piglet gritted as he struggled to physically restrain Pooh, "where are your horns?"

"Well," the Doctor began.

"Cosmetic surgery," Chrysanthemum finished, beginning to thoroughly enjoy herself.

The Doctor beamed. "Exactly!"

"Mine came out about to here," Chrysanthemum illustrated by holding her hands out about a foot away from her forehead, "before I had them removed."

Both plushies goggled at her. Piglet was the first one to pull himself together, but when he spoke, his tone was almost as nasty as Pooh's.

"The horns of Minetorianans," he said, voice cold and deliberate, "are not located on their heads."

Chrysanthemum dropped her hands, out of inspiration, but the Doctor leaned forward with a sober expression.

_"That,"_ he said, tapping his forehead pointedly, "is why we had them removed!" He leaned back and folded his arms.

There was a long pause. Piglet and Pooh wore matching expressions of quiet outrage as they surveyed the two prisoners. "So," Piglet said, "you have no intention of cooperating?"

"None whatsoever," the Doctor said, looking pleased that the plushies had cottoned on so quickly.

"Neither of you?" Piglet looked at Chrysanthemum.

"Neither of us," she confirmed.

"I'll persuade them," Pooh growled.

"You know," the Doctor said mildly, "I really think we could take you. If, of course, you were so abysmally stupid as to actually attack us in earnest."

"It would take a few moments for proper back-up to get in here," Chrysanthemum added, giving both plushies an appraising look. "We could probably rip you apart before they stopped us."

Winnie the Pooh looked as if he wanted to turn bright red with fury, but he was handicapped by an absence of capillaries and remained a stubborn yellow. Piglet, she could see, was trembling, though she couldn't tell if it was from fear or rage.

"Your impertinence has been noted," the pig said stiffly. "You will wait here for further instructions." And without another word, the two plushies exited the way Piglet had come in--squeezing their squishy bodies out through the roots. The prisoners, for the moment, were alone.

"That was fun," the Doctor said, grinning up at the ceiling. "Nice threatening, by the way--top notch."

"Thanks." Chrysanthemum stood up and stretched, her body sore from squatting on the little chair. "Out of curiosity--why'd you make the lie so blatant?"

The Doctor considered the question as he climbed to his feet. "I want to know who's _really_ in charge here," he said, lowering his voice to make it harder for any plushies in the tunnel to eavesdrop. "It's obviously not these fuzzy chaps--they're just the drones." He frowned and leaned back against the wall, hands in pockets. "So who's the queen?"

.o.O.o.

WHO, INDEED? DUN DUN DUNNNN!


	6. Chapter 6

Holy moly, an update! Since I already have a few more chapters written, I'm going to try to get back into the swing of things, here. It seems a shame to just let it die when I have a whole plot and everything.

**Disclaimer: **I accept no responsibility for the funny ideas your plushies might get if you read this aloud to them.

.o.O.o.

Chrysanthemum hadn't the foggiest idea who the queen was, so instead of venturing a guess, she nodded at the Doctor. "You've got some fungus in your hair."

"What?" His eyes widened in something like panic as he pawed at his head. "Why didn't you say so earlier?" He lowered his hands--now liberally smeared with green--and stared at them in horror before turning to Chrysanthemum with a beseeching expression. "Did I get it all?"

She made a show of scrutinizing his hair, not having the heart to tell him that he'd only succeeded in spreading the fungus more uniformly through his once-brown locks. "You got, er... most of it," she said evasively.

_"What?"_ he repeated, evidently not comforted. _"Mos_t of it? Can you get the rest?" He bent over to make his head more easily accessible to his shorter companion.

"Well..." she hesitantly poked at his hair a bit, then sighed and shook her head. "Doctor, it's absolutely everywhere. You'll need a shower to get it all out."

"But..." he straightened, looking heartbroken. "But it's... _green_ and--and _glowy!"_

Chrysanthemum shrugged apologetically. "I don't know what to tell you. Maybe if we pass some running water, you could dunk your head in it."

The Doctor didn't look comforted, but before he could object any further to the state of his hair, the root portcullis started to grind up into the ceiling. Both of them turned to face the door, wondering what awaited on the other side.

As the roots vanished, it became apparent that the prisoners' compliance was no longer to be taken for granted. The original teddy was still there, but the monkey and sheepdog were gone. Instead, there was an overstuffed lion nearly the size of a labrador retriever, and a massive black bear with paws the size of dinner plates. Neither of them carried weapons, but they looked quite capable of knocking a person to the ground. Chrysanthemum stole a glance at the Doctor, who seemed to have forgotten his hair woes and was looking at the new plushies with one eyebrow slightly raised.

"So!" shrilled the teddy. "Feeling uncooperative, are we?"

The Doctor smiled pleasantly. "Is that meant to be a rhetorical question?"

"You shall follow me," the teddy ordered as if the Doctor hadn't spoken. "If you so much as lift a hand, my associates will flatten you in a trice, and you will be stabbed many times! Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Chrysanthemum pursed her lips and stared at the ground in the hopes that her smirk would go unnoticed. She heard the Doctor say, "Crystal, sir," with a sarcastic lilt to subtle that she doubted the teddy had picked it up.

"Very good," the teddy said briskly, confirming her suspicions. "Come on, then!"

The lion and the bear padded into the room, urging the prisoners on with deep growls and bared felt teeth. With a tiny sigh, Chrysanthemum ducked out the door and back into the low tunnel.

She had thought that the Interrogation Room was a bit closer to the surface of the planet than their cell, though it was impossible to confirm since there were no crude skylights. Now, however, they were definitely being led deeper underground. The fungus-coated ceiling went from having the occasional skylight to none at all, and the fungus started to creep down the walls to compensate for the lost natural light. With the poor Doctor's green hair in mind, Chrysanthemum took extra care to avoid touching the walls or ceiling. But while the fungal glow illuminated things that were already bright--white patches on the plushies lining the wall, her shoelaces--it turned the dirt floor into a featureless black smear. Several times she stumbled over a root or rock and had to steady herself against the wall to keep from pitching forward, and as a result, her hands soon gained an impressive coat of green. Her forehead also obtained a few streaks from when she forgot herself and went to brush back her hair with a fungus-covered finger. As the minutes dragged by, discomfort grew into annoyance, which quickly burst into the full bloom of irritation. By the time they reached their destination, she was almost too stiff and frustrated to be impressed.

The tunnel led straight into a room that, when compared to the others, was positively cavernous. Roughly circular, with walls of smooth stone instead of dirt, it arched up over their heads and culminated in a round opening at the planet's surface, some hundred feet above them. It reminded Chrysanthemum of pictures she'd seen of the Pantheon in Rome. It must have been around noon--a shaft of dazzling sunlight lanced straight down to the stone floor.

"Ah, now _this_ is impressive," the Doctor said, gazing around appreciatively. "Very nice!"

"You will speak only to answer her questions!" the teddy ordered.

"Whose questions?" Chrysanthemum asked.

"And that goes for you as well!"

Chrysanthemum sighed, wondering how long they would have to wait this time. She was beginning to feel really hungry; even assuming she hadn't been unconscious for too long, it had been at least several hours since she'd last eaten anything. The imaginary tea certainly hadn't helped.

Fortunately, their wait was a short one. A flicker in the beam of light drew their gazes to the ceiling, and Chrysanthemum watched as a child-sized, winged person fluttered down to the floor. It folded its wings neatly and strode towards them, footsteps making no sound on the cold stone floor. It, Chrysanthemum realized as it drew near, was a stunningly beautiful woman with blonde hair that nearly glowed (and not the unattractive shade of green that adorned the prisoners' heads), and with clear, shrewd blue eyes.

The winged woman--a fairy?--gave Chrysanthemum a cursory glance, then turned to the Doctor. "You identified yourself as the Doctor?"

"Yes," the Doctor replied, smiling pleasantly down at her, "I did."

_"The_ Doctor?"

"You've heard of me, then?" His face broke into a grin. "Or was your emphasis on 'the' your way of indicating--"

"Yes," the fairy cut him off, "I have heard of you." She raised a perfect eyebrow and slowly paced around him, sizing him up with a relish that Chrysanthemum thought borderline indecent. "Your reputation precedes you, you know. You're famed for your brilliance." The Doctor glanced at Chrysanthemum and raised his eyebrows, jerking his head at the fairy as if to say, _See?_ Chrysanthemum rolled her eyes and stared at the wall, shaking her head ever so slightly. "In fact," the fairy finished, coming to a halt in front of the Doctor and clasping her hands together in delight, "you are exactly the person I need."

"Well," the Doctor said, "this is hardly fair, is it? You know all about me, but I don't have the foggiest idea who _you_ are." He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Before I can agree to help anyone, I have to know who I'm helping and what I'm helping with, don't I?"

"No," the fairy replied brightly, "technically, you don't. But I'll indulge you, Doctor. I am the Nursery Magic Fairy," she took a step towards him, and he leaned back a little, his smile beginning to look rather fixed, "and you are going to help me mobilize my army."

The Doctor was silent for a moment. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully. "Nnnnno," he said slowly, "no, I don't think I will."

"You will do," the Nursery Magic Fairy said, voice cold, "as you are told, Doctor."

"That's what you're doing, here? Building an army?" He furrowed his brow, incredulous and amused. "Out of _teddy bears?_"

The Nursery Magic Fairy resumed her pacing around the Doctor. "No one on Earth wants them. I do. I made them real. I've given them a purpose. They do not know pain, cold, or hunger--they are perfect soldiers. Our only setbacks have been technological in nature--and now you will fix that little problem for us, Doctor."

He shook his head. "How many times do I have to say 'no'?"

The fairy stopped, then held up a hand and snapped her fingers. Chrysanthemum, who had been ignored thus far (not that she minded), suddenly found herself seized by two of the largest teddy bears she had ever seen--they were fully as tall as she was, and strong enough to wrench her arms painfully behind her back.

"Ow! Hey!" She tried to struggle out of their grip, but they gave her arms another sharp yank. She bit her lip and held still.

"Let her go," the Doctor said, his tone the darkest she'd heard since the day of the warehouse explosion.

The Nursery Magic Fairy made a brief show of considering it. "Nnnnno," she said finally, "no, I don't think I will." A nasty smile spread across her face as she nodded at the two teddy thugs holding onto Chrysanthemum. "You see, Doctor, if _you_ refuse to comply, I can have my minions do something nasty to _her_. That way, you'll stay in top form for us--see how nicely it all works out?"

For a moment, Chrysanthemum could only gape at the Nursery Magic Fairy. Despite the gravity of her current situation, she once again found herself wanting to laugh. This was ridiculous. "I'm not a bloody bargaining chip!" she cried incredulously.

"You are now," the fairy said, waving her hand. The teddy thugs started backing out of the chamber, dragging Chrysanthemum along with them. Chrysanthemum gaped a little bit more for good measure, then resumed struggling, her amusement rapidly fading.

"What... but... but this is... let _go_ of me! Doctor!" She stared at him, panic creeping into her voice as she was pulled away. He looked back at her, jaw clenched, eyes dark. "Doctor, what am I supposed to do?"

If he had an answer, she didn't hear it. One bear backed into the tunnel behind her, the other moved in front of her, blocking her view of the Doctor and pushing her into the tunnel. Sandwiched between their bulk, with no room to squeeze around them, she was given no choice but to stumble in the same direction they were going.

That direction, as far as she could tell, was further down. The tunnels grew smaller, the squeeze tighter for her guards. Once, she had to actually help them both through a tight spot--something she only did reluctantly and because she didn't fancy sitting in a tunnel between two bears for the rest of her life. Finally, they reached a root wall with an open doorway, through which her guards indicated she should go. It was a tight fit--she had to get down on her hands and knees and squeeze through, though she managed to 'accidentally' give both guards a few good kicks in the process.

She found herself in a small cell, lit by a brighter fungus than the stuff in the tunnel. It glowed a comforting shade of gold, like dim lamplight. She could hear a trickle of water, and was relieved to see that a rocky portion of her cell contained a small pool about the size of a bathroom sink. It wasn't a meal, but at least she could get _something_ in her stomach, and perhaps wash some of the fungus and dirt off her face. There was a large pile of leaves in one corner; Chrysanthemum suspected it was meant to suffice as a bed, though she had her doubts as to how comfortable it would actually be. With a grimace of annoyance, she stood and stretched, then turned to look at the door. It had been lowered while she was examining her cell, but she could see a few tufts of brown fur sticking through the roots, and guessed that one of her guards had plunked himself down right in front of it.

"Hey!" She knelt by the door, pinched some fur between her fingers, and gave it a sharp tug. "I'm hungry!"

"Silence, prisoner," grumbled the guard, giving no indication that tugging on his fur had pained him.

With an exasperated sigh, Chrysanthemum sat down and leaned back against the wall. _I'll give him one hour to get me out of here,_ she thought, _and then I'm taking matters into my own hands. _ Shutting her eyes, she settled back and waited.

.o.O.o.

Oh, how will our heroes get themselves out of this pickle?!

Reviews are like little motherless bunnies longing for a home in my email inbox. Would you deny them that, you heartless readers, you?


	7. Chapter 7

I would once again reassure you all that plan to update more often, but I suspect you all would laugh at me. Ah, well, I have at least one more chapter that could be posted at any time, and I'm writing away! That's good news, right?

**Disclaimer: **I have a pet cat! Isn't that exciting? Also, I may or may not have put a little too much thought into the sorts of things one would get up to if one was trapped in a subterranean cell for the better part of a week.

.o.O.o.

After fifteen minutes, Chrysanthemum was bored. After half an hour, she was bored and irritated. After forty-five minutes, she was bored, irritated, and starving in spite of the water she'd gulped down. As the one hour mark approached, she took to staring at her watch. And when the second hand ticked past the twelve, she let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Right," she whispered to herself, "Plan B. Not that I _have _a Plan B, but whatever."

She spent a solid fifteen minutes examining every inch of her cell. Two of the walls were dirt (the other two being roots and rocks, respectively), and the idea of tunneling out crossed her mind. However, she had no idea how far it was to the surface--tunneling upwards might take a week, assuming she wasn't caught. Her best bet was trying to claw her way out to the existing tunnels, but even if she reached them, she had no idea where to go. It had occurred to her that she should try to memorize her route, but it wound up being impossible because all she could really see at any given time was the back of one bear and the front of the other. This made judging distance nearly impossible. And, she realized, even if she did manage to memorize the route, it would only take her back to that huge chamber--and since she lacked wings (unlike _some_ people), that wouldn't make for much of an escape. Before she could do anything, she needed to figure out where she was in relation to the exit.

Of course, she could always just get out, run as fast as she could in whatever direction, and holler "Doctor" at the top of her lungs until she either found him or was tackled to the ground and "stabbed many times." But she wanted her plan to be less pathetic than that.

"Excuse me," a tiny voice interrupted her thoughts. She blinked and looked down; a stuffed panda was standing near the root wall, rocking nervously on its pudgy feet and holding what appeared to be an apple. "She said you might be hungry. Here you are." It stumped over, having some difficulty with the burdensome fruit, and gratefully unloaded it in Chrysanthemum's lap. It hesitated, glanced furtively at the root wall, then leaned forward and said in a much softer tone, "Is it true... that is, I've heard some of the others saying you're from Earth. Um. _Are _you?"

Chrysanthemum considered repeating the earlier lie, but there was something very earnest about the teddy that appealed to her. Earnest, she thought, and frightened--it kept glancing over its shoulder as if terrified of being overheard. "Well, it's about time! I'm starving!" she said loudly, before lowering her voice to a whisper and adding, "Yes, I am."

The panda nodded once, gave her a tiny, shy smile, and whispered, "We miss it, sometimes." Before Chrysanthemum could fully process what it had said, the teddy had vanished through the roots.

Chrysanthemum polished the apple on her sleeve, a thoughtful frown on her face. Escaping on her own was looking foolhardy at best, but if she could make allies out of the teddy bears, that would be a whole different story. They could guide her to the surface--or to the Doctor--and help her avoid recapture. She bit into the apple, making herself chew slowly and relish the taste instead of wolfing it all down in a matter of seconds. God only knew when they'd remember to feed her again.

Once the apple had been demolished, she chucked the core into a corner and sat back against the wall. Should she try endearing herself to the teddy thug outside? No--it was too soon, and if the guard was likely to switch sides, the panda wouldn't have been so frightened of it overhearing their brief conversation. Best wait for the next little teddy to arrive for whatever reason.

After several hours of staring at the root wall, Chrysanthemum's eyelids began to droop and her thoughts began to wander around in vague circles. She hadn't expected captivity to be so boring. Maybe she _should _try a bit of tunneling; it couldn't hurt, could it? But that would mean moving, and she didn't feel like moving, she felt like staying right where she was. Maybe she'd just shut her eyes for a few minutes. A little nap couldn't hurt.

Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

.o.O.o.

The days dragged by, each one as uneventful as the last. Various teddies continued to bring her food, but she never saw the same one twice. Every now and then one of them would give her a quick, secretive smile, or tip her a wink, and she guessed the knowledge that she was a human had spread quickly through the group. But for every creature that gave her a hopeful little lift, there was one that completed its food delivery in stony-faced silence, giving her no indication that it was anything other than a good little drone. This made it rather difficult for any half-formed escape plans that involved making allies of the teddy bears to take off; the teddies that seemed promising she never saw again, and all of them were so paranoid that she was never given an indication that they were friendly until right before they hurried out of the cell. It was maddening.

Also maddening was the complete lack of any sign of the Doctor. She had expected that he'd put up more of a resistance, and that she would consequently be dragged before him and beaten or something while he watched. But she never left the cell, and none of the teddies lifted a paw to her, leaving her with two possible conclusions. One: the Nursery Magic Fairy had no intention of hurting her, and was merely _telling_ the Doctor that awful things were happening in the hopes that he'd take her word for it and behave. Chrysanthemum doubted this one--she imagined the Doctor would insist on seeing her, as proof that she was still alive if nothing else. Two: the Doctor was cooperating, or pretending to cooperate convincingly enough that using Chrysanthemum as leverage hadn't been necessary. This, however, meant that the Doctor was content to just let her sit in a little dirt room until he went through with whatever scheme he had brewing... and _that_ was infuriating.

_Do you have any idea what I'm going through? _she screamed at him in her head. She didn't expect him to hear her (though for all she knew, he had telepathic powers of some kind), but it made her feel better to envision herself railing at him, and perhaps also throwing things. _I haven't had a proper meal in days! They don't have toilets, so I have to go in a_ hole! _And I have to dig the holes myself, you git, while you sit around building a war machine or whatever the hell it is she has you doing! If you're such a sodding genius, why haven't you figured out some way to at least get a message to me? Why haven't you gotten us both out of here, yet? Bloody_ useless, _you are!_

Of course, she hadn't been all that useful, herself. But she also had never called herself a genius. She wasn't the one who was _supposed_ to be getting them out of this situation.

_Well, screw being the damsel in distress,_ she thought, new determination flowing through her. _I'm getting out of here._ She glared at the root wall. The next teddy that came through was in for a surprise.

With fingers that trembled a little with mingled anticipation and fury, she pulled her hair back and secured it in a ponytail. She didn't want to have to deal with it getting in her face. Then, she crouched by the root wall like a cat and waited.

Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long. After a few minutes, a teddy bear came wriggling through the roots, grappling a satsuma. Before it could get its bearings, she snatched it up and shoved it against the wall, swiftly covering its mouth before it could make a sound.

"Listen, you little--" she began, stopping abruptly as she took in the bear's appearance. Its left ear was set a little lower than its right, its clear brown plastic eyes gleamed dully in the yellow glow, its nose--stitched on using deep brown thread--was just a little bit crooked. And every detail was painfully familiar. Chrysanthemum blinked, then swallowed. When she continued, her voice was a far cry from the threatening hiss of before. "Bo-bear?" she asked quaveringly.

The teddy stared at her, eyes wide with shock. Then it glanced down at her hand, which was still clamped over its mouth. She removed it with a guilty jerk. Clearing its throat, it said in a similarly shaky tone, "Chrysanthemum?"

.o.O.o.

I believe the phrase that I'm looking for is, "DUN DUN DUNNNNN!"

Reviews have this tendency to make my day. Just sayin'.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: ** Ha ha ha, remember when I said I would update more often? What was that, February? The good news is that I have been working on this a good deal, and only held off posting out of a paranoid fear that I'd write myself into a corner only back-editing could fix. But you know what? That's never really concerned me before, so there's no reason it should start worrying me, now. So here is another chapter. I have two more in reserve.

**Disclaimer: **This fanfic may cause an unsafe drop in blood pressure. If you find yourself reading this chapter for more than four hours, consult a doctor immediately.

.o.O.o.

Chrysanthemum stared in shock at her childhood teddy bear. Her first instinct was to hug him, her second (upon remembering where she was and what she was dealing with) was to drop him like he was on fire. Sure, Bo-Bear had been her first toy and constant companion... but he was currently working for the Nursery Magic Fairy, and presuming him to be anything other than loyal to the winged freak who'd locked her up would be a stupid and potentially dangerous move.

Then she recalled the wistful expression she had seen on that shapeless little rabbit's face, and decided that being mean to her old teddy would be just as foolish. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't remember her. So she settled for something in between and set the bear down as respectfully as she could before folding her hands in her lap.

"I thought Mum threw you out," Chrysanthemum said. She winced almost immediately; that probably wasn't the most tactful place to begin.

"She did," said the bear.

"I was _so angry _with her." She rubbed the back of her neck, then admitted, "I missed having you around."

Bo-Bear looked down at his paws. "I missed being with you. You were my person." He looked up at her, the shifting of his stuffing sounding like a sigh.

"And you were my bear," Chrysanthemum replied, endeavoring to ignore the way her eyes were stinging all of a sudden. She sniffed once, then impulsively grabbed the teddy and pulled him into a tight hug. After a moment, she felt his fuzzy arms go around her neck in a light embrace.

Embarrassed, Chrysanthemum set Bo-Bear down once more. "How did you get here?" she asked.

"She--the Nursery Magic Fairy--brought me here. She brought all of us here." Bo-bear plunked his little bottom down on the floor and stared at her. "What about you?"

"I came with the Doctor." Inhaling sharply, she continued in a more urgent tone. "Do you know where he is, what he's doing?"

Bo-bear held up his paws apologetically. "I know where he is, but I haven't seen him. I've only heard rumors... something about him building a machine of some sort."

Chrysanthemum sat up straight, trying hard to not sound too outraged. "What, so he's just _cooperating?" _

"Oh, no, he was quite stubborn at first. She ordered that you be beaten several times."

"But..." she frowned, baffled, "no one's touched me."

"Of course not." Bo-bear shrugged his fuzzy shoulders. "Tully--the panda bear, remember?--told us all you were human, and after that... well."

"Well, what? Pooh hit me. Granted, it didn't feel like much."

"Pooh's cracked," Bo-bear said frankly. "There are some things the rest of us _will not_ _do_, and causing a human pain is one of them. It's not in our natures."

Chrysanthemum considered this as she picked up the discarded satsuma and started to peel it. "Does the Nursery Magic Fairy know how you all feel?"

"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time."

She popped a segment of the fruit into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and nodded once. She trusted Bo-Bear, and there was nothing else for it. "I have to get out of here, Bo-Bear. Can you help me do that?"

"And go where?"

"To the Doctor. Or to the surface, whichever one is closest."

Bo-Bear shifted, his expression pensive. "It's possible. If the guards were encouraged to abandon their post temporarily, one of us could guide you out. But it's rather crucial that you put both yourself and your guide well beyond Her reach, or no one will risk it."

After frowning down at the dirt for a few moments, Chrysanthemum looked up at her old teddy bear. "What about the WARDIP--that giant washing machine? How far is it from here?"

"Not _too_ far. Shifting you two would have been quite difficult; I imagine they dumped you into the nearest hole they could find. But you've traveled quite a ways underground, so I couldn't say for certain. I'd have to find someone from the ambush party and ask."

"Okay," Chrysanthemum glanced nervously at the root wall, wondering if Bo-Bear's lengthy stay in the cell was going unnoticed by the guards. "If you can figure out a way to get me to the WARDIP, that would be best. We'd be safe if we could just get inside. Figure out how far it is, and send word with another bear. That way, you won't look suspicious coming here more than once." She paused, rubbing her forehead. "Will that work?"

"Good a plan as any," Bo-Bear said, hoisting himself to his feet. "In the meantime..." he walked to the dirt wall perpendicular to the root wall and paced along it for a moment before marking a spot with his paw. "Start digging here--not too much! It won't do to break through before we've worked things out. But you've got about three feet of dirt to get through, so it'd be just as dangerous to wait until the last minute before you start."

"You won't be able to just open the door?"

"It takes quite a few bears to hoist that thing up. I might find enough volunteers, I might not," he said tersely, his anxiety growing with every passing second. "We can't afford to take chances. I'll send word." He gave her a small smile, then wriggled out through the roots before she could say a word.

.o.O.o.

So began a new kind of waiting. Chrysanthemum immediately set to work on the wall, but it was slow going, mostly because she wasn't entirely sure that every teddy visiting her cell would be trustworthy, and didn't want to make the work obvious. Instead of digging a straightforward tunnel, she dug more of a wide scoop in the wall, carefully packing the loose dirt onto the floor so it wouldn't be noticed. She scrutinized every snack-bearing teddy that entered, but several meals'-worth of plushies came and went before she saw one she recognized. It was Tully, the panda plushie who had brought Chrysanthemum her first apple.

"Any news about the WARDIP?" Chrysanthemum asked as she gratefully accepted the dinner roll the panda passed to her.

"It's not too far, by your standards," Tully replied, voice low and hurried. "Fifty meters to the nearest exit, double that to your machine. You can make it if you run, and if enough of us can band together to delay the pursuit."

Privately, Chrysanthemum wasn't certain she was up to the sprint; she was no athlete, and she'd been sitting in a cell doing nothing for what felt like a week, at least. But this was her best chance at escape; she wasn't going to let it pass by. Plus, she couldn't imagine any of the teddies were capable of going much faster than a human could jog, nor did she think fighting a few off would prove very difficult, if it came to it.

"All right," Chrysanthemum said with a quick nod. "When can you get me out?"

"The sooner, the better. Tonight, two hours after your supper. Bo-Bear will guide you out."

Chrysanthemum started to thank the panda, but the little plushy was gone before she could get out the words.

.o.O.o.

The afternoon dragged. Chrysanthemum had dug as far into the wall as she dared; she hadn't been keeping track as closely as she meant to, and alternated worrying that any further digging might be too much, and worrying that if she tried to bust out, she'd merely bounce back and have to waste time in frantic scrabbling. She tried pacing, but it didn't make the minutes drag any less--nor, she realized with a wince, should she be wasting her energy in such a way. They had only been feeding her enough to keep her alive and well (more or less), and a week of inactivity and too little to eat had left her feeling... not _weak, _exactly, but not at all certain that she was up to the physical challenges that might present themselves.

Her supper was brought by a bear she didn't recognize. The plushie gave no indication that it was in on the escape plan, so Chrysanthemum snatched the proffered peanut butter sandwich without a word to the bear and occupied herself with brushing the dirt and bits of fuzz off of the bread. By the time she'd cleaned it to her satisfaction, the teddy was gone.

Two hours to go. Chrysanthemum ate slowly, then crouched by the trickle of water and tidied herself up as best as she could. Her clothes were beyond help: dirt had been ground into every inch of her jeans and sweatshirt, and her t-shirt was little better. She didn't even want to think about the state of her socks, and instead made a mental note to not remove her shoes until she was somewhere very well-ventilated. Her hair was in a sloppy braid; she didn't have a brush, and shortly after Bo-Bear's visit, she'd decided that braiding it would at least keep it from growing too tangled or--god forbid--matting. So, with clothes and hair being a lost cause and already taken care of, respectively, she settled for splashing her face with water and rinsing her hands, doing her best to remove most of the dirt from under her nails. She wondered if the WARDIP had a shower, or a bath, or perhaps both. She'd _kill _for a bubble bath.

She had only managed to waste about half an hour with eating and washing, so it was with no small amount of a shock that she observed the dispersal of the guards. She heard them shift, then saw the tufts of fur vanish from between the roots. Was this part of the plan? Were they ahead of schedule? Chrysanthemum stood, flicking water from her fingertips, and stared at the root wall, trying to guess what might be happening on the other side.

There was a rough grinding noise, and the door to her cell opened. Bo-Bear peered inside, then stepped in. "Come on," he said, "change of plans."

.o.O.o.

Reviews are like sunshine! And since it's currently about zero degrees Fahrenheit where I live, I could use all the sunshine I can get.


End file.
